


Unheeded Advice

by MlleMusketeer



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Loud Sex, M/M, Overhearing Sex, Pegging, Smut, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Wall Sex, implied sounding, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleMusketeer/pseuds/MlleMusketeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arcee and Cliffjumper are inconsiderate housemates. </p><p>Alternatively, in which Optimus and Ratchet show the pesky young bots what 'loud' really means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unheeded Advice

“Cliffjumper.”

Arcee rolled her optics at Cliffjumper and turned around as well. Ratchet was glaring. Ratchet _always_ glared. 

“What is it, Doc?”

“While I appreciate that you two have a healthy relationship, I would appreciate you not sharing that with the rest of the base, particularly at late hours of the night cycle.” The Doc-glare intensified. “Need I remind you we share a wall?”

“Oh,” said Cliffjumper, rubbed the back of his neck and looked contrite.

_What a stiff!_ he sent over comms to Arcee, who tried not to laugh. _It’s not my fault you’re so good with your fingers._

“Yes, oh.” The corners of Ratchet’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Besides, take it as my professional medical opinion that silence can make things more…interesting. Failing that, there is an amply remote room within the base itself.”

_Oh Primus_ , Arcee sent. _Is Ratchet trying to give interface advice?_

_How long do you think it’s been since he’s ‘faced someone?_ sent Cliff. _I’m going to guess before the war?_

_WELL before,_ sent Arcee, and said, “Uh. Thanks, Ratchet. We’ll just, uh, go on patrol now.”

“Right,” said Ratchet. The sarcasm should have offlined the old mech on the spot. “Set up appropriate perimeters.”

“Will do,” said Cliff, and they retreated through the groundbridge as fast as they could.

Once it had closed, the local fauna were treated to the sight of a motorcycle leaning against a muscle car, both laughing hysterically. 

At last, Arcee said, “We should give him something to _actually_ complain about.”

* * *

 

The noises Cliff made while his valve rippled around her spike were _spectacular_. She didn’t need to do much at all with her voice, in fact, because no one would hear her over the din he was making. 

Didn’t stop her, though. She drove in again, reveling in the wet tight heat. 

“More more more _OH PRIMUS more I’M GOING TO OVERLOAD!”_ wailed Cliffjumper, and then suited action to words with an even more spectacular cry that made the empty cube on their shared workstation shake. Arcee’s vision narrowed down and she thrust faster, chasing her own overload with no effort to muffle her own grunts and cries. As soon as his vocalizer reset, Cliff joined her. 

It was a _really_ fragging good night. Annoying Ratchet was a bonus.

* * *

 

“Hi Ratch, how’d you recharge?” said Cliff the next morning. 

Somehow, Arcee didn’t snicker. 

Ratchet peered at them over a cube of energon. “Just fine,” he said, with true venom in his voice. “I spent most of it appreciating the _value of silence._ ”

Cliff opened his mouth to say something. Arcee pulled him away—

—And they came faceplate to abdomen with Optimus, who peered down at them over his windshields, and said, “I trust you recharged well?”

Arcee looked up at Optimus. He looked pretty tired, which was odd. “Yes, sir,” she said. 

“A quiet night is always pleasant,” said Optimus, and smiled like he’d made a joke. But it was Optimus. It couldn’t be a joke.

Seemingly unaware of their shock, Optimus headed over to Ratchet and settled next to him. 

Arcee and Cliff looked at each other, then at the older bots. 

“Nah,” said Cliff. “It’s just Optimus being Optimus.”

Optimus glanced up, then down again. 

Arcee and Cliff froze, staring at each other. Ratchet wouldn’t, would he?

They glanced back at Ratchet and Optimus, deep in conversation. It looked like Ratchet was laughing. 

“That’s not good,” said Cliff aloud. 

“Gotta be something different,” said Arcee, keeping her voice down. “I mean, would _you_ complain to Optimus about _that_?”

 

* * *

 

Nothing happened. The day progressed uneventfully, and when Arcee and Cliffjumper retired for the night, they were snickering about that morning. And wondering where Bulkhead and Bumblebee had gotten to. 

Arcee woke up halfway through a recharge cycle to a berth-shaking thump from the shared wall. She started upright, expecting to hear the base-wide alarm go off, looked at Cliff who sat up wide-opticked next to her. She started to activate battle protocols—

—and stopped when she heard the moan, one thin human wall away from her left audial. Ratchet.

She and Cliff shared a grin. “I think he’s trying to outcompete us,” she whispered. 

“All by himself?” said Cliff, sounding impressed.

On the other side of the wall, Ratchet grunted. Things shook, followed by a deep, unmistakable moan.

“No,” said Cliff. “Please tell me that wasn’t—“

_Thump_. 

Another groan. 

Definitely Optimus. The sound of cooling fans intensified, a dull roar at this distance. 

“I can’t believe it,” said Cliff. “I thought he wasn’t—let alone fragging _Ratchet!”_

“Never mind that,” said Arcee. “Are we just going to sit here and let them outdo us?”

Realization crossed Cliff’s face, followed by a huge grin. “No way.”

“Back against the wall,” said Arcee, gesturing. She had to raise her voice; the muted roar of Optimus’s fans was deafening. 

Cliffjumper obligingly scooted back and spread his legs, opened his panel and traced his valve with a digit. _Like what you see?_ he sent. 

_Oh yes,_ sent Arcee. She opened her panel and stroked her spike. “Keep that up,” she said aloud, more like a yell. Cliff grinned and honked his approval. 

Regardless of the noise of their commanding officer and medical officer fragging in the next room, she pressurized quickly. Cliff’s valve tended to do that, and the noises he made when she leaned over and lined herself up, pushed in—

—granted this time it was obvious that he was being loud and perhaps a little louder than was natural, but this was _fun!_

Then the engine on the other side of the wall dropped down several gears and _roared_ hard enough to vibrate the wall. Arcee and Cliff froze, staring at each other, the vibrations translating through his frame around her spike. Oh _Primus_ , she wasn’t going to last! 

From the noises he was making—at the top of his vocalizer—neither would Cliff. 

She seized his hips, pistoned hard into him, grunted as his valve clenched up around her in an overload and kept going, grunting with the effort. Cliff wailed as the stimulation sent him over again. 

She was panting with the effort not to overload, not before she got at least one more—

She failed, locked up with a shout, hands clenched around Cliff’s legs, shaking.

She came back online to another wall-shaking thump, and the sound of Optimus’s horn at full force. Things rattled. 

“More, Ratchet, please!” cry from the other side of the wall. The thumping became rythmic. 

“I think we lost,” said Cliff, very quietly. Arcee raised her head from his chestplates, where she’d rested it. Overloads didn’t usually take it out of her like that. 

A high pitched beeping—back-up beeper, had to be Optimus—joined the cacophony on the other side. Optimus had a voice he had (presumably) carefully cultivated to be heard across a battlefield. He was using it. And his horn. His engine was still roaring. The result sounded like a small battle.

Faintly, under all the noise Optimus was making, a careful listener could discern Ratchet’s engine and voice. A really careful listener would stop immediately after that, because the things Ratchet was saying—shouting—were entirely too informative. His horn joined in once, twice.

“I mean, wow,” said Cliff. “Who knew Optimus was into that?”

“Who knew Ratchet still had it in him?” said Arcee with a smirk. “Guess age really is an advantage.”

Ratchet’s sirens went on, rendering speech impossible. They made an interesting counterpoint to the beeping.

_We are NEVER going to get to sleep at this rate!_ sent Cliff. 

_Yeah. They’ve got to be done soon, though._

Only they weren’t. 

It went on. And on. 

_Haven’t they ever heard of overloads?!_ Arcee sent.

_Apparently not,_ said Cliffjumper.

Finally, Optimus overloaded with a shout that shook the walls again. Cliff and Arcee sighed in relief. Arcee snuggled down on top of Cliff and for a few blissful moments, there was silence. 

Then the moaning started again. 

“Stop that,” said Ratchet’s voice. “Or I’ll tie you to the berth.”

Something like a whimper. “Oh, you do like that, don’t you.”

“Harder, please Ratchet!”

“Not so fast.”

“Ah!”

“Mm. You are pretty like this.”

“Ratchet please stop slagging tea—AHH!”

“Teasing? I’m not teasing. It’s proper preparation. Really, Optimus, one would think you had no knowledge of basic interfacing safety at all.”

“Preparing? But—oh, oh please OH there PLEASE!”

“Mmm. Yes.”

“Don’t stop!”

Arcee onlined her optics. “I do not need to be hearing this,” she said in a whisper. “I cannot count the ways I do _not_ need to be hearing this.”

She moved her helm to look up at Cliff, who looked just as horrified as she felt. 

“Ratchet? What is that?”

“Nonstandard medical equipment. Move your hands over your helm and keep them like that.”

“Where are you going to—Ratchet? Ratchet, what are you— _OH!”_

“Stay still, slag you.”

“Oh! Yes, please like that please aaaah please old friend please—!” Optimus’s engine roared again, followed by Ratchet’s sirens. “Primus, old friend please frag me!”

Arcee groaned. “Fine,” she said. “They definitely win.”

 

* * *

 

Arcee and Cliffjumper were all but falling into recharge in their energon the next morning. Optimus and Ratchet, for a couple who had been fragging in increasingly noisy and complex ways for most of the night, were annoyingly online.

“So,” said Ratchet, when he passed by the two of them, with an air of affected innocence, “How did you two recharge?”

“Fine,” said Arcee. “We spent most of it appreciating the value of silence.” She looked across the room to Optimus, who was frowning down at a scrape on his front. “There’s nothing like a _quiet night_.”

Ratchet grinned at them over his cube. “Indeed. If you’re looking for Bulkhead and Bumblebee, they spent the night on the roof. Something about how _peaceful_ it is up there.”


End file.
